


Dogs Don't Dream

by Goofypants



Category: Sleepless Domain (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Past, Past Character Death, Tobacco use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goofypants/pseuds/Goofypants
Summary: When the night falls and the barrier shrouds the City, monsters swarm its streets and magical girls hunt them down. Many residents are left sleepless over the looming dread of a monster breaking into their homes. But not all of them. Hidden away in secret basements and abandoned buildings, the criminal underworld of the City gets down to business in the time window when no police force can reach them.  This is the tale of an ordinary guy who tries to survive and find answers in a the darkest corners of The City.
Kudos: 7





	1. West End Story

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know dogs actually do dream, but it is a cool name. Much art, many poetic, wow

Walking down the broken cobblestone street was a young man in a black and white varsity jacket, bearing the letter S on the front and a depiction of a husky dog on the back. His black, combed-up hair glistened in the setting sun, and the wheels on the large battered case he was dragging by him squeaked and rattled on the cobblestone blocks. His name was Sylvester, and he played upright bass in a band called The Huskies, a trio playing old world inspired Rock 'n' Roll and Rockabilly music. Like many other kids born in the Downs, the poorest neighborhood in the City, Sylvester was very well accustomed with the City's dark underbelly. While the situation has now improved since he was a child, it was still far from ideal. Main improvement was that the the constabulary had at last established its presence there, and the militias that upheld (at least a semblance of) order there before were outlawed. But the local gangs still fight for power over the black market. He was in a very sour mood, musing to himself about how this whole mess works.

The main driving force behind it are tobacco and alcohol, thanks to the soft prohibition that's in effect. While alcohol is technically legal, it is a strictly controlled substance. Many hoops need to be jumped through in order to produce it and sell it, and the laws only allow for a very limited supply of crops to be allocated for its production, with very high taxation on the final product. Tobacco, meanwhile, is banned outright - one cannot find a smidgen of it on surface. And this is where the underworld steps in. Hidden greenhouses that grow fruits, grains, barley and tobacco plants under lights that simulate the sun are hidden in secret locations. Their produce is harvested and delivered to secret stills and tobacco processing plants that run all night, pumping out beer, wine liquor and tobacco products that are served in illegal underground clubs afterwards. There, gambling flourishes, deals are arranged and stolen goods are fenced. 

Sylvester stopped in front of a run-down alley and looked into it. It was dirty and filled with trash and dumpsters, just like many other dark alleys in The Downs. He then glanced up at the clock tower of the local Foundationalist church that could be seen above the top of surrounding buildings. At that very moment the clock struck nine in the evening, and that gongs scared a flock of pigeons that rose off its roof and flew off into the distance. Suddenly the sound of wheels clacking on the cobblestone echoed down the street. Sylvester quickly turned his head towards the source, but it was just some kids on push scooters. It was too soon for the gangs to come out anyways.

Despite the fights over control of these establishments being savage, gun violence is all but non-existent, since the chemicals required for making gunpowder are in extremely short supply and there are virtually no guns in the city (the few existing ones being rusted old world relics only suitable for decoration.). Therefore, the gangs go medieval on each other, using melee weapons such as knives, hatchets and bats, while clad in makeshift armor made from sporting equipment reinforced with metal plates (usually acquired from scrapping old kitchenware, trash cans etc.). Their clothes and armor are always dyed in the colors of the gang, and bearing their logo. Another telltale sign of the gangs was their means of transportation. They would utilize bicycles, razor scooters, skateboards, longboards and a variety of man-powered makeshift vehicles to get around. The rattling of many small wheels on the cobblestone was usually the telltale sign of an approaching raiding party, which usually happened during the late hours at night after barrier reset and the magical girls had already went home.

After the kids passed by, there was no one else around so Sylvester casually entered the alley, dragging his worn case with him. In the middle of the alley he took a left turn into a small courtyard filled with wooden boxes. There was a basement door on the ground in the back, and a small vent in the wall behind it. Sylvester set his case down and approached the vent. “Hey there, I would like to get real sloppy tonight!” he spoke into it and stood back. Some rattling was heard behind the basement door and then the bouncer opened it, beckoning him in.

A long walk downstairs into the sub-basement later, Sylvester found himself inside Sloppy's Den, the seediest dive bar in the whole City. A place of ill repute, cheap rotgut you had to light on fire first to make sure it won't blind you, and one of the very few live music venues willing to give a chance to musicians playing non-mainstream music. The Huskies were set to have their gig there tonight. Quite a few people were already there, and Sylvester was surprised to find his bandmates, Buddy Bopper and Valencio Belmonte among them. They were sitting by one of the dirty tables closest to stage, with an open bottle, three full glasses and a pack of cigarillos waiting on it.

“Aaaaayyy! Syl! We got a shot of probably-vodka with your name on it, jack!” Buddy shouted as soon as he noticed him. Sylvester approached their table, set the case down.... and tried the chair. Realizing it was barely holding together, he threw it across the barroom and grabbed another one from the table over, which he slumped into afterwards. “Don't worry we already tested it and it burns blue so it... wait, youse looking really bummed out there, what's wrong bud?”

“Tommy's... gone.“ Sylvester replied in a grave voice and set the worn case down. His reply struck with such force that even Valencio, up until that point preoccupied with fixing up his 'do, stopped and turned his sights to him. Sylvester slumped into the chair and immediately downed the shot of rotgut, then pulled out and lit himself a cigarillo.

“Gone? Wait, what do you mean by gone? What happened?” Valencio asked and put away the pocket mirror he had leaning against an ashtray. 

“When I came to visit, the door was and the apartment was completely turned upside down, nothing of value was left there. Tommy was gone, along with his wife Sunny and my niece Lunica. There were no traces of them left anywhere in there. 

"Was their apartment breached? Did they get hit by Poison Rose?"

"Nothing like that, I found no structural damage. So, I called the constables immediately, and they searched everywhere, but hear this: When they asked the neighbors, everyone denied seeing or hearing anything. So y'all know what this means.”

“There was some mobster Tommy still owed money to and they came to collect.” Valencio nodded and downed his shot, shivering immediately because of the foul taste.

“Exactly.”

Indeed, Thomas Mills was a mess. Sylvester's older brother got into gambling, which accumulated debt and forced him to work extra as part-time as an errand boy for the crime bosses he was indebted to. At first his wife Sunny tried to steer him clear of it, but then he introduced her to the highly illegal world of magical girls betting. And being a huge fan of magical girls, she fell right into that trap.

When magical girls first appeared, some people started treating them like competitive boxers. They formed a betting office that monitored how well were they doing, created tables that showed how much each of the popular teams were successful, tracking things like number of monster kills, how powerful were the monsters killed... people started betting on all sorts of magical girl related stuff, but it was not until some clearly disturbed individual started betting on injuries or deaths that the ring caught any attention of City officials. Naturally, the Foundationalists were furious when they learned of the practice and immediately made appeals for it to be banned, and the so the City swiftly outlawed all magical-girl related gambling. One of the reasons for the ban was also the fact that the betting office's agents would venture out during lockdown to keep tabs on the fighting directly (because ranking them purely on video evidence was deemed to be ineffective) thus putting both themselves and the girls in danger. But the ban did not put an end to magical girl betting, the whole operation just moved underground, but at least now the agents stopped running out into the streets at night, instead resolving to watching the best-known fighting spots from the safety of interiors.

As Tommy and Sunny spiraled deeper and deeper into debt, Sylvester tried to help them out as much as he could - even personally working for the mobsters they owed to when he was not doing his day job. But now it seemed like it was not even nearly enough after all. Sylvester first got tangled with the underground when his wife died in childbirth a few years ago. He himself even forgot how long was it, and he did not care, for trying to remember always opened the wound again. He only knew that they were still both very young when it happened. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. But then in little Luni, he found solace. He cherished his little niece dearly, and it was mostly because of her that he agreed to help his brother with the criminal jobs, and over time managed to convince both him and Sunny to steer clear of the gambling for her sake. But now she was gone and it hurt him just as much as when he lost his wife. 

Buddy downed his shot and poured them all an another round. ”Founder damn it. And here I thought, that you managed to drag him out of that shit?”

"I did. But looks like there was either some loan shark I did not know about, or some mobster had a score to settle."

"Yeah, good ole Downs, jack. That's what we get for living in The City's asshole. Still, I never expected any of the gangsters here to do that to a child. Just what kinda monster are we dealin' with here?"

Valencio threw back his shot and scratched his chin. “There was that asshole mobster who always wore that checkered suit. Sly rat that one, I bet he would even sell his own mother, so if there was a guy who would be able to kill a child in the City, it would be him. But I heard he got done in out by some mail carrier or something. For stealing their package. Lesson learned, don't mess with a postal worker around these parts.”

"Well one less scumbag to worry about. But who else we got then?"

“What about the one they call The Ragged Wraith? I heard the nightingales sing that that cat is a real bruiser, and the current rising star in the underworld. Rumor has it he simply appeared out of nowhere and just started snuffing out the opposition.”

“The Ragged Wraith? Hmph, now that's a mouthful. Sylvester scoffed and threw the cigarillo butt into the ashtray. “So who is this cat?”

“I don't know, some rough boy from out of the town.” The joke was met with loud groans from Valencio and Sylvester, so Buddy chuckled and continued. “Yeah yeah, I know... but it sure seems that way. I mean, he just practically appeared out of nowhere – nobody ever heard of him before and nobody knows anything of his past. He just suddenly crashed into the Swanny Boys' hideout, down at the Swan Pond. He tore through the place and beat the ever-loving hell out of their boss, and before the rest of the gang got to them, the Ragged Wraith was sitting behind a table while the their (now former) boss was serving him coffee, looking like he got ran over by a tram. Afterwards, Wraith led the Swanny Boys into a turf war with the other gangs, conquering them one by one, integrating them into his own forces. He also is rumored to have stitched together a cloak from the clothes or flags of each gang, and that it is already pretty colorful.”

"Well if what you say is true, then this is the most likely candidate. I should find him and ask some questions..."

Buddy and Valencio both spat out their drinks. In the background the bartender screamed something like 'No refunds!' 

Valencio was the first to speak. "Syl, you have full right to be frosty right now, but hold your horses, alright? You heard Buddy, this cat means business. Even if we were still with the Hel... I mean, our old posse, there is no way we could just march up to this cat and say: Hey snake let's rattle. That is just too big of a bite to chew."

"Yeah cool it!" Buddy exclaimed and poured another round of maybe-vodka. "Take another shot to calm your nerves, ay? Besides... think about it, maybe Lunica just ran away and is hiding somewhere. Because even if some heartless asshole told his thugs to harm a child... you really think they would? I is also possible that they have taken her - or all of them - somewhere, and are holding them hostage."

"Huh, okay. Yeah you are right." Sylvester paused and pulled out another cigarillo from the box. He puffed on it and thought for a moment, then pointed the red hot tip at his bandmates. “You know what? I'm going hit up some of the cats who used to roll with us back in the day. Ask if they know anything, and to keep their peepers peeled.”

“We'll help you out, jack. But remember what the fuzz said. No vigilante activities or we're all getting canned.” Valencio finger-gunned at him.

“Just don't expect us to call you boss again.” Buddy chimed in while grabbing the bottle to pour them another round, but then stopped. “Aw fiddlesticks, this dump is turning into real Antsville quick. We better hop on the stage and start getting ready, before Sloppy comes screaming at us like the last time.”

They got up and headed towards the stage. The place was really bustling already, and Sylvester wondered how could that be, since Sloppy's Den wasn't exactly popular. Not with anyone who wasn't a lowlife anyways. But this seemed to be a different company. These were...

Sewage workers. There were no bigger roughnecks in the City than them - the only men and women who could rival magical girls in toughness, but definitely not in fame. Working the ancient sewers was a hard toil, and what was worse, sometimes there were monsters down there. When they first discovered one down there, the City Sewage Works asked the City Defense Department if they could provide them with magical girl protection down there, however that was met with swift rebuttal from Foundationalists who refused to ever tarnish the sacred duty of a magical girl by sending them down to a sewer. So the workers came up with a sort of a telescopic stun spear. It could not harm the monsters much, but it could keep them out of reach in a corridor while the worker backed away into a smaller side tunnel, where hopefully the monster would not fit or couldn't break into. Naturally, there sometime were smaller monsters that could follow them there, or stronger monsters that could break in, and then the workers would fall prey to them. It was a well paid job, and after trudging through grimy, musty infested tunnels all day, they would usually spend their their hard earned money at much fancier establishments than this, but when it was a rough day they often reached for the strongest, foulest rotgut that would make them forget all those horrors they'd seen down there. 

Sylvester thought that this was the case, and sure enough, he overheard the ones sitting at the table nearest to stage.

“Fuck me, what a mess. Five dead today, five! And what's worst, Brandon and Martha just had their kid born two years ago, and the monster got them both! Man fuck the CDD and those Founder's bitches for refusing to let us have magical girl protection down there!” The youngest man from the group exclaimed and then threw back a triple shot of what seemed to be the same imitation vodka that The Huskies were drinking before.

“Yeah but what can you do.” An older female worker responded. ”They do not want their precious holy warriors to get their dresses dirty. What is worst, when the monsters get close to surface they suddenly get evaporated. So the higher-ups feel like there is no real danger to the city from them. But danger to us... they do not give a shit about that. I got my fair share of contact wounds in my time and threw up plenty of screaming gas. Hrmpf. At least we get paid better than most of them.”

Sylvester was not happy that this was the reason behind the large audience tonight, but he hoped that some good old Rock 'n' Roll mixed with strong cheap hooch would help them forget their woes for at least a short while. When they set up their gear, he stood in front of the microphone and tapped it a few times.

“Good evening y'all. We are The Huskies, and this song is dedicated to all those who perished by the monsters' doing. It's called... Dogs Don't Dream. ONE TWO THREE FOUR!”

And so they started playing. The song was hard, fast and dark:

_Arcane Barrier and magic swirls  
Cover all that the eye can see  
On the street there some evil stirs  
Wicked beasts... they're hunting for me!_

_Sleeping dogs, they don't get to dream,  
The magic shield's ripping at the seams  
I have no power, no strength in me  
Lady in White where have you gone?_

_Cracked bricks and the old concrete  
And evil monster is crawling in  
Many limbs and they're grabbing me  
Nightmares, pain... and sufferin'!_

_Sleeping dogs, they don't get to dream,  
The magic shield's ripping at the seams  
I have no power, no strength in me  
Lady in White where have you gone?_

_Creeping shadow the world is gone  
All around is now purple sea  
Slime and ooze, I start to drown  
Dark and deep... it swallows me!_

_Sleeping dogs, they don't get to dream,  
The magic shield's ripping at the seams  
I have no power, no strength in me  
Lady in White where have you gone?_

They rocked on until barrier reset. The sewage workers turned out to be grateful listeners, and the Huskies even earned themselves a round of applause after every song that night. But Sylvester could only think about his brother and his family. What happened to them? And was this new gangster, the Ragged Wraith, responsible? One thing was for sure – it was time to tap into all of his old sources and find the answer, no matter the cost.


	2. Needles and Pins

It was a cold, snowy night in early February and Peggy Duisithe was lying in her bed, slowly drifting into sleep. She turned 13 recently, and each night before sleep, she was pondering if she would get The Dream. It was her single greatest desire, not only would it mean she could finally leave the terrible West End High and go to Future's Promise (or heck, even Founder's Blessing would be better than her WEH) but she would also be the first member of her family to become a magical girl in like three generations. She wanted to be like her great-great-great-grandmother, the legendary Lucky Clover so much – the tales of her heroism were frequently retold in her family circles, and Peggy absolutely loved them and hoped she could one day live the life of adventure... instead of being constantly terrorized by the bullies (and often even teachers) at West End High. With these thoughts swirling in her mind she fell asleep.

When she woke up, she found herself at the beginning of a long, empty hallway constructed out of solid gold, with emerald-studded pillars supporting the ceiling that was so high up, it was hidden in a green mist. The same green mist was also in the distance on the ground, so she couldn't see what was down the hallway either. Though there were no light sources to be seen anywhere, there was light everywhere, and only thing obscuring vision was that mysterious green mist. Behind her was just solid wall, so she started walking down this mysterious temple or whatever was it, realizing that the green mist was most likely hiding something important. As she walked, the mist was getting more and more dense, then suddenly turning black... impenetrable, obscuring.... suffocating. Up until that point the air there felt comfortably warm, but suddenly it was getting incredibly hot. Hot... burning... scalding... pain!

She screamed and woke up immediately. The old oil heater in her room had exploded due to thermal fuse failure. It burst open and spewed burning oil everywhere, some of it even landing on her left arm and cheek and leaving her with jagged burns. The room was filling with thick black smoke and an overpowering scent of oil, and the curtains and carpet caught on fire. Her parents charged in shortly afterwards and got her out of there. Luckily they had a fire extinguisher at home, one that worked (which was not the case for many of households in the Downs) and so the fire was quickly taken care of. 

Her mom was then giving first aid in the bathroom and comforting Peggy. She was crying and wailing, but it was not the pain that caused those tears. She saw her reflection in the mirror and noticed a streak of her hair now had a bright golden color, and there were cracks (similar to marble) of the same color formed in her emerald-green irises. It was the realization that she was having The Dream, but it was interrupted by the broken heater. A freaking broken heater robbed her of her one chance, her one shot at glory!

The barrier reset came in half and hour, and Peggy's parents rushed her to the nearest hospital immediately afterwards. The doctor informed her that her burns, while not deep, were pretty severe and would leave her with permanent red marks on her right cheek and forearm. But they also confirmed what she knew and feared... that girls who get the Dream but are awakened before it concludes never get it again, and that they would always be left with permanent hair and eye discoloration of varying degree and form, based on how early the Dream was interrupted.

Peggy was about to start crying again, but suddenly the doctor put his hand on her shoulder... and started shaking her.

“Needles! Hey Needles, wake up!”  
She gasped and jerked her head up. She was back in her tattoo salon in The Downs, apparently she dozed off behind the counter. Sylvester was standing in front of her, wearing a black shirt with leopard print collar and a worried look on his face.

“Hey now, this is a great way to have your shop robbed, fuzzy duck. Better not to open when you're not feeling too hot.”

“Oh.... um I don't know how this happened! I thought I slept well enough last night.” Penny explained with a blush and stood up. “Thanks for waking me up, you done pulled me out of a real painful dream right there.”

“The past been comin' to haunt ya again?”

Peggy nodded. “The same old memories, but I do not want to talk about it. What can I do for ya boss? New ink?”

“Yeah. And don't call me boss, it's been like six years now. I also have something to talk to you about. But we can chat while you work.” he explained and sat in the tattooing chair while Peggy prepared her tools. “It's actually a pretty simple one. A crescent moon with its tips pointing downward. And I want it on my right fist.”

“Well that's an unusual one for the likes of you Syl.” Peggy exclaimed. What followed was some paper rustling, then the scratching sounds of a pencil tip as she sketched the design. “Anything special you want to add to it? And why do you want an ink like this on your fist, actually?”

“That symbol is known as Lunica. You know, just like my niece. Bro dug it out from a history book somewhere and liked it so much he named her after it. And I want it on my fist because I a going to punch the people involved in her disappearance in the face with it.”

The scratching of Peggy's pencil stopped. “Wait, what are you on about? Little Luni.... what... is she...?”

Sylvester explained the entire situation to her and she buried her face in her hands, and even a tiny sob escaped her lips. "Poor little Luni. I loved that girl, and hoped she would become a Magical Girl when the time comes! You bet your ass I am going to help you out in any way I can! Those gang members coming in for their tats often spill beans when the needle is poking them, so I will make sure to inform you if I hear anything! 

Peggy was always a great artist and wanted to be a painter, but fate struck again and led her on a different path. Her uncle who was a tattoo artist owned the very parlor they were standing in, but just like many residents of The Downs he liked to hit the bottle in the bootleggers' bars. Unfortunately, one night his drink was tainted with methanol, which left him practically blind. Rather than closing the parlor down, he taught the trade to Peggy (who was about to graduate high school). She was reluctant at first, but then, realizing that it was the only way art could earn her a livelihood in this part of town, she agreed to it. Afterwards she became the go-to tatter for Sylvester's old posse, but also did inks for any other tough guys and gals too, and there sure were sure a lot of them. So many in fact, she completely bought the parlor off from her uncle using the profits a few years ago (even though up until that point she was sharing them with him 50/50). 

The peculiar thing however, was the fact that Peggy had trypanophobia – fear of needles, which was why she did not have any tattoos of her own (though to some, her red burn marks looked like tattoos from the distance.) When asked about how can a person with fear of needles operate a tattoo machine, she'd just shrug and said she is not afraid when she is on the safe end, not the one getting pricked.. This earned her the ironic nickname Needles amongst her friends.

When she finished up the sketch. Sylvester checked it out and nodded, so Peggy put on her rubber apron and gloves and got to work. As she did, he glanced over her. Even though she was in her twenties, Peggy was very shot and had a small frame. Thanks to this, and her hair and eye discoloration, people would sometimes assume she was a magical girl, which caused her much dismay. But despite her size she did know how to fight, and was excellent with a slingshot.

“Ok all done!” she said after finishing the tattoo and putting a layer of petroleum jelly and bandages on it. “You know the drill since this isn't your first ink. This might be the smallest, simplest one I ever did for you though. Oh by the way, how was your gig last night? Sorry I didn't come, but that place creeps me out big time.”

“I'd never be so cruel and ask you to come see us at Sloppy's Bar, fuzzy duck. Place is a dump.” Sylvester said while getting up from the chair. “We had a surprisingly large crowd and they loved us, but I wish it was under different circumstances. They were all sewage workers who came there to drink away a horrible shift, during which five of their coworkers died.”

“Five? Damnation! The government needs to do something about this situation at last! But hey, don't beat yourself up over their reasons for showing up! After all, you guys lifted their spirits with your music when they needed it the most! Also... who else from the old crew did you talk to regarding the fate of your bro's family so far?”

“Yeah you're right, thanks. Well only Buddy and Valencio so far. After this I am headed to the gym, maybe I will find some of our old crew there and in that case, ask them.”

Peggy furrowed her brow. “Hey now, you know you should not workout with that hand for at least 48 hours now!”

“Aaay, it's okay, today is leg day for me. Anyways I gotta fly, I'll drop by again later!” 

Upon hearing that she just shook her head and chuckled. “Right. See ya Syl!”

With a ring of the bell he walked outside the parlor and was immediately welcomed by the rattling of the tram on the overhead railway. The Downs were located at much lower elevation than the rest of the City (hence the nickname), so trams traveling there used elevated rails. One of them had just left the nearest station and headed west, so Sylvester casually strolled east towards the next station on his path, knowing full well that he has plenty of time to get there before it turns around. Halfway on the way there, he ran into another of his friends - Zed. 

Sylvester was tall and built like a tram, but Zed was another level. The guy was half a head taller than him, and his shoulders were wider by a third. One would expect a brutish looking guy to work as enforcer for one of the gang bosses.... but he was actually one absolute nerd and an arcade owner. But right now, he was chaining up the door to his arcade and putting a giant padlock on it.

“Yoooo Zed! Why you locking up already? The day is just beginning, and today is Saturday, don't you get the best business on weekends?” Sylvester exclaimed as he approached the gentle giant. Zed waved at him and then shrugged.

“Yo boss... I mean Syl. Yeah well, it just ain't worth the hassle anymore. The machines are old and keep breaking, and when they do not do that the kids smash them when I am not around, and since the parts for these outdated ones are now hard to come by, it was getting too expensive to maintain them. And not that many people come to play anymore anyways, so buying new ones was out of the question.

“So you're just closing it down? What are you gonna do, you got an another gig lined up?”

“Yeah actually, I got a job at the newly opened Silver Star Arcade downtown. You heard of it?”

“Whoa, THAT fancy place? Congratulations! Now wait, does that mean you will be moving out of Downs now? What about your arcade here, are you selling it?”

“Nah, who'd buy it? I'm going to hold onto it for the time being. I'll just leave it locked, not like there is anything of value left in there, I already sold all the salvageable machines so that I could buy an apartment up in West Town, closer co my workplace.”

“Well damn. I guess you cannot help me then. I got a problem see...” Sylvester then explained the situation to Zed, who just shook his head. 

“Aw man, sorry to hear that. But yeah you are right, I do not want to have anything to do with the Downs anymore, sorry. But say, maybe I can help you in a different way...” He unhooked the spare keys to the door and the padlock and tossed them to Sylvester. “Maybe during your search you'll find yourself in a situation when you will find yourself in need of a unsuspecting place to crash down at for a bit, a safehouse if you will. Well, you can use my old arcade for it should the need arise. There is even still a couch in the office that you can sleep on. Just don't make a mess in there alright? Also keep an eye on the place from time to time so that others don't do it either.”

“Wow, thanks Zed, I appreciate it! Gotta hit the gravel now though, I need to catch a tram, but I will come see ya at your new job once I'm able to afford going to a fancy downtown arcade, aaay!”

******

The gym was a few stops away from Downs, closer tho the centre of West Town. Sylvester always headed there for exercise because it wasn't much pricier than gyms in Downs (also thanks to Buddy, who worked there as a personal trainer and managed to get all his friends discounts) and was free of roided-up gang members itching for a fight and thrashing the equipment. Not exactly bustling at this hour, but there were still some people around, even some guys and gals Sylvester used to roll with, so he asked around, but no one really knew anything and most of them moved out of Downs anyways so they were out of he loop regarding what is going on in there, but still promised to inform him if they learned something. After asking around, he headed for the leg exercise machines to do his sets.

“Aaaayyy, glad you ain't skipping leg day!” came Buddy's voice as Sylvester tumbled out of the vertical leg press after finishing his last rep.

“Hahah, never. I see you got a new client?”

Besides Buddy stood a tall, young woman wearing black and yellow exercise clothes, her thick brown mane tied into a workout bun. Her well-toned body made it obvious she was no newbie to the world of fitness, and her stern face suggested she was no stranger to fights either.  
“Yeah, Valencio's colleague, Jane. She told him that she wanted to learn some knife fighting defense techniques, so he sent her to me.” he explained, showing Sylvester a couple of rubber training knifes ”We're going to spar in the ring right now, want to join us?”

“Nah, sorry, Needles done did me a new tattoo on my right hand today, so I cannot strain it right now.” he explained, showing the bandaged hand.

“This 'Needles', are they good?” Jane asked suddenly. “I am looking to get a tattoo done myself.”

“She is the best. See for yourself – all of these are her work.” Sylvester rolled up his sleeves to show all the ink Peggy had done on his arms: a red thorny rose wrapped around a switchblade, a colorful jukebox, various skulls here and there, and some others, but most the prominent was on his right bicep - a snarling infernal hound with spiked collar, red glowing eyes and a quiff hairstyle. He realized he probably shouldn't have showed that one, but figured Jane was not from West End so he let it go.

Jane scanned the tattoos with her piercing grey eyes and nodded. “I'll pay her parlor a visit then. Could you please give me the address?”

******

“Hey boss, I'm here.” Sylvester announced as he entered the Melodies Of The Old World music store at around one in the afternoon. Barry Woodchuck, the owner, was sitting behind the register and scoffed at being called 'boss'.

“For Founder's sake Sylvester, I am your father-in-law. Just call me Barry.”

“Sure thing boss.”

“Bah!” 

Once a big rock 'n' roll star in the City, his fame was long gone now, and he bought the store along with an apartment above it with his earnings. Barry was the father of Sylvester's deceased wife, May Belle. Sylvester has been working in his shop since high school, and that was where he met her After their marriage, Barry made him his partner and after May Belle died, they remained close. Since Barry had no other children and was a widower as well, he declared Sylvester the heir to his cherished store. 

The store had many shelves inside, which were loaded with vinyl records, cassette tapes and band merchandise, and multiple display cases showing phonographs, tape players and also various music instruments. Despite the name, there were not just copies of old world records for sale there, but also of modern music – made in the City, after whatever apocalyptic happening that left them stuck isolated from the monster-ruled world, separated by the Great Barrier .

“Anyways... That guy from Obituary Records came by just a few moments ago and dropped off a box of that Bad Foundation's newest record along with a shipment of shirts and some other stuff. They are in the back, please go sort them out and put them on display. And I know you like this type of music, so you can grab something from there for free, consider it a bonus.”

Sylvester lifted his brow. “Hang on now... we're are selling Bad Foundation's albums? And merchandise too? Here, in a shop owned by such a strong Founder believer like you?”

Barry waved his hand. “Hey now, I don't oppose them, for I know the spirit of rock 'n' roll better than anyone. Hell I was once like that too! Besides they roast the government and Church, not Founder - and you know my opinions on the louts who are in power. And most importantly, I make a killer by selling their music with how they are flying off the shelves!”

“Haha, spoke like a true capitalist!.” Sylvester said as he went into the storeroom. It was actually just as large as the shop itself, and full of shelves loaded with cartons of records, and boxes containing music instruments of various kinds. There were even some that Sylvester was convinced were original old world relics which would make them invaluable, but there was no way to confirm the serial numbers. He found the shipment and unpacked the records and shirts then put them on display in the shop. After he was done, Barry got up and headed towards the door that led to his above-the-store apartment.

“Make sure to lock everything properly when you leave!” he told him as he was unlocking the door, labeled 'NO ENTRY – PROPRIETORS ONLY.'

“Sure thing, boss!”

“Argh, for Founder's sake cut it out already!”

The shift went by quickly thanks to the store being busy that day– rebellious teenagers and young adults from the neighborhood all flocked there to pick up the new album – Penance from Bad Foundation, and also the shirts and other merchandise. Soon enough the clock struck seven – closing time. The shop was open from seven in the morning to seven in the evening, and Sylvester always wondered why, after all there were rarely any customers in the morning or the evening. But alas, Barry decided that those were the opening hours and that he would not change them, so he just rolled with it. Besides, the schedule fit him perfectly if he started at seven, he worked until three and then had plenty of time for band practice and other business. And if he worked evening shift, he started at noon and worked until eight, so he had plenty of time to sleep off last night's gig, or other things like he did today.

Sylvester locked the front door, tidied up the store , mopped the floor, checked if all the windows were closed and locked, turned off the lights and headed outside through the back. Locking the reinforced door of the back entrance, he headed for the tram stop.

******

The tram rattled on the elevated rails and Sylvester watched the rooftops in Downs pass by. It was obvious that the area was not originally meant to be residential – many of the buildings were re-purposed factories, manufactures, workshops, warehouses, depots and so on. Maybe when the City was first built, this neighborhood did serve for industrial production, but the capacities weren't used fully so most of the factories closed down and were turned into cheap housing units (and many of them looked shabby due to poor maintenance. This theory was further supported by the fact that Downs were hugged by two other industrial areas – the Northwestern Industrial District that focused more on heavy industrial production, and the Southwestern Industrial District which was mainly food processing plants. Southwestern was also signified by a large, rusted metal sign below the main staircase to Downs that read 'NOW ENTERING THE WEST END INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT' with a yellow 'WELCOME TO THE DOWNS' graffiti sprayed over it.

Not all of the factories were closed though – there were multiple active clothes manufactures and a couple of toy factories still active (gotta produce that magical girl merchandise somewhere) and also one large chemical plant. These served as the main source of employment for a large part of Downs' residents. One of the clothes manufactures was a actually located in the most run-down, shantytown area of Downs and was notorious for producing terrible quality goods, but some unscrupulous managers still signed up their magical girls for merchandising contracts with the company that owned it. Sylvester lived in an apartment complex a couple blocks away from the place and would often run into shady characters when going home in the evening, so when he heard some rustling behind him as he was about to unlock his apartment's door, he was ready.

In a flash, he ducked down and milliseconds later, a knuckleduster-wearing fist punched into the metal door at the same level where his head was before. Before his attacker – a large brutish guy – could recover, Sylvester did a sweeping kick at his legs and knocked him down to the ground . But the guy was not alone, there were three more. One of them was already charging at him with a baton, but he side-stepped and knocked him out with a mean right hook to the jaw, but the second guy managed to get a hold of him, long enough for the last one to take a swing at his head with a heavy leather billy club. It struck Sylvester across the skull making him see nothing white.

The thug managed to knock him out and he fell to the ground, and then everything went dark...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Jay aka MorpheoMancer for letting me feature his character Jane Greene in my fic! Check out Jay's works:
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/uMfDC7k
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/gw84y7T
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/AvvrwNl
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/morpheoMancer/pseuds/morpheoMancer


	3. Violins

“Let me check myself, am I dead?”

When Sylvester awoke, everything was dark and there was a cold sensation on his wrists. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized he was sitting in a chair, with his hands cuffed behind him and a potato sack draped over his head.. “Well ain't this a drag.” he groaned audibly.

“What are you on about, jack? This is real Fat City right here.” Came muffled Buddy's voice from the right, followed by muffled Valencio's voice from the left.

“Yeah at least they cuffed each of us separately, on our own chairs, and did not tie us back-to-back on the floor. That would've been way more uncomfortable.”

Sylvester was very surprised by the fact that his bandmates got caught by these goons too, but nevertheless he grinned under his tater sack hood and quipped back. ”Good point. And they even gave each of us our own sack over the head! Imagine having to share the same one.”

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and slammed his head into a hard metal surface, probably a table that was in front of him. “Shaddap basterds, youse only gonna talk when youse told to!” a brutish voice barked out.

“Touch me with those moldy paws again and I will smack your fat sausage lips into oblivion, you...”

“Careful now, Mills. You do not wish to anger Mog here.” a familiar voice interrupted him. Suddenly, someone removed the sacks from their heads and Sylvester found himself face to face with the infamous thief, Darkell Doven. He was sitting across the metal table from him, with his legs up on its surface. Darkell had long brown hair, tied into a ponytail, brown eyes, and a sly, pointy, fox-like face with a strong 5 o'clock shadow. He was dressed in a black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of brown khakis.

Sylvester grimaced. “Hey can I have my hood back please? I don't want to spend my evening looking at Doven's ugly mug here.”

“Youse awfully ballsy despite your situation.” Darkell noted while balancing a dagger on his fingertip. “I guess I should welcome yous to the base of our little operation. Tell me Huskies, do you have any idea why you're here?”

“Well yeah, you want us to play a gig somewhere. But this all is unnecessary, you could've just sent someone to tell us.” Valencio responded.

“No, we're not interested in your gutter-grade music.”

“You want us to capture and bring you this smuggler and his big hairy companion.” Buddy responded.

“Wait what? No.”

“This building is an arena and you want to make us into gladiators or some shit.” Sylvester said with a bored uninterested expression and tone.

“While that would've been mildly entertaining, no. Hmpf. Well then, I will explain it, so that yous half-wits can understand. The lot of yous were goin' around asking questions, acting like nosy little shits. Especially you, Mills.” 

“Yeah, well I'm writin' a book y'know.”

“Yes, indeed you are.” An incredibly deep, cheese raspy voice of a chain-smoking coal miner spoke from behind a door to the right, followed by heavy footsteps. Then, he stepped out of the darkness beyond the doorway into the light, and all three Huskies turned pale. Dressed in old fencing protective gear of sickly green color stained with blood with the mesh helmet stapled together through the middle, and a patchwork cape made of large cloth scraps of various colors, it was him. The Ragged Wraith.

”Well shit.”

“You nosed around in The Downs, which isn't the smartest thing to do. But you had your reasons - you wanted to learn what happened to your brother and his family.” The Ragged wraith explained as he approached them and placed his hands on the table, staring at Sylvester through his mesh face protector. Sylvester was a tall guy, but Ragged Wraith was easily at least a head taller than him. “And I happen to know something about their disappearance. In fact, we have captured the culprit.” He explained and pointed over his shoulder. 

Sylvester, Valencio and Buddy all looked there and only then noticed there were several narrow, but tall pane glass windows observing a small courtyard opposite them. Beyond the courtyard, glowing in the dark of the late evening there was the Outer Barrier. And in the courtyard, close to the windows, there was a short metal pole, and a short, balding fat man in a greasy filthy tank top was gagged and tied to it. Sylvester immediately recognized him.

“Yeah, that there's Pigneck Ricky. He was one of the guys my brother used to owe money to. So?” 

And indeed, Sylvester even worked for him previously in the hopes of repaying his brother's debt. However, the last time they saw each other, Ricky told him that the debt was paid off in full, and that Thomas had no more obligations towards him.

“You probably heard that I am expanding my territory. Ricky was a small fish, and I did not want to bother with a hostile takeover of his operation, so I cut him a deal. But that greedy swine tried to cross me and rip me off. So naturally I took over his assets, and learned some interesting information int the process. Ricky seemed to have realized that he should've charged your brother interest, and so he came to collect with a couple of thugs. It turned violent and your brother along with his wife and daughter died in the incident, so then they had to get rid of the bodies.”

“Wait, and what about my niece Lunica? Is she...”

“The kid? Yes. She's dead too. It was an accident, Ricky and his goons did not want to kill her, but these things just happen.”

This shocked Sylvester. He had hoped little Luni was still alive. But something about what the Wraith was telling him seemed, off... so he kept a level head. “You know, somethin' does not add up here jack...”

“Watch yourse tone, Mills.” Darkell growled menacingly and pointed the dagger at him, but Wraith waved him off.

“Do you know what adds up though? The interest on your brother's debt. Interest that I now have the right to, and I DO plan to collect on it. And since your brother is dead, it is up to you to pay it off. And besides that, you practically owe me for what I have done, so add that to the debt. But I do not want your money, instead you will have to work it off. You see, I have a problem that needs solving, and I need someone of your abilities for that.”

“Ok, now I have no idea what that would be but I'm pretty certain you will threaten to cause physical harm or outright death to my friends,, family, or my own person should I refuse.”

“You are smarter than you look. Indeed, if you refuse, someone you know will take Ricky's place next time.”

“Erm, why is ol' greaseball Pigneck out there though?” Buddy asked cautiously.

“Glad you asked.” Wraith replied as he casually glanced at a clock hanging on the wall. “The show will be beginning soon.”

“ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS. THE TIME IS NOW 9:55 PM. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'RE BACK INSIDE YOUR HOMES, WITH ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS LOCKED.”

“Prepare to witness what happens to those who dare to cross me.”

The man chained up outside freaked out upon hearing it, desperately trying to free himself from the chains that bound him, but to no avail. He was also trying to scream through his gag, most likely crying for mercy, but they couldn't hear anything through the glass.

Wraith stood up and turned around, then approached the window. This gave Sylvester the opportunity to study his patchwork cape, stitched together from scraps of the flags and outfits of various gangs. Sylvester recognized almost all of them, as they were mostly from the Downs' gangs. 

There was a piece of pure black leather with a white swan logo, taken from the Swanny Boys, the first gang that The Ragged Wraith conquered. There was a teal cloth with two crossed swords, representative of Teal Street Knights. A yellow piece with a hornet logo that belonged to The YellowJackets. A red piece with a broken heart that once belonged to The Dedhartz. And he would've studied the cloak more, but his thoughts were interrupted when the second announcement echoed from the outside. 

“ATTENTION ALL GIRLS. THE TIME IS NOW 9:59 PM. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'RE TRANSFORMED AND READY.”

The barrier spread out outside afterwards, covering everything in a coat of sparkling snowy white, with windows remaining practically clear. Ricky was going crazy out there at this point, while there was a swirl of shadows forming behind him into a tall black pole.

“Excellent, it's already here.”

“Huh, what's already here?” Valencio asked. “All I see is a streetlight. Wait, was it there befoooOOOH MY SWEET FOUNDER!”

That was no streetlight. It was a Langler, a mimic-type monster that imitates lamps. It roared at the helpless prisoner, then lowered its bulbous head, its glowing maw opened wide. Pigneck Ricky made one desperate last attempt to break free, but it was in vain, and the Langler's sharp, luminescent teeth clamped down on him.

“OH FUCK NO!” Sylvester shouted, unable to take his eyes off the horror show unfolding beyond the window. Valencio fell backward with his chair from the shock and Buddy turned his head to the side to throw up.

“Urrrrgh.... I have seen some shit in my lifetime but this takes the prize, bluh.”

The Ragged Wraith turned around and briefly glanced at them before returning his gaze back to the scene of carnage that was left outside. “Do you understand the gravity of your situation now, Mills?” He asked as the Langler outside straightened itself up and pretended to be a streetlight again, its glow illuminating Ricky's lifeless body.

“Yeah, shit I mean... whatever the hell do you want me to do, I'll fucking do it, alright!”

“Good, glad to see such enthusiasm. Mr. Doven, would you kindly fill our new... intern on the details of the job?”

The thief hid his dagger in a small sheath up his sleeve and cleared his throat. “Ahem, well the job is quite simple, really. Yous will assist me in acquiring an ancient old world violin called Madame Sacher Von Die Torte for our boss' collection.”

“Gee what a mouthful. So what is so special about this violin, and how come Mr. 'Best Thief The City Had Ever Seen' cannot steal it on his own?”

“Well this particular violin is owned by a certain Ria Stradiva, a.k.a. Magical Girls Enchanting Strings, of Team Strings fame.”

For a few short moments, Sylvester just stared at Darkell completely flabbergasted. “OK, big tickle, but I sure ain't laughin'. So... you say want us to go and yoink an instrument owned by RIA FRIGGIN' STRADIVA, one that is considered the single most expensive instrument currently known to mankind, and possibly even the most valuable item in the whole damn city, even? Have you completely lost your marbles, slick?”

“Don't doubt me, you wax-headed motherfucker. My plan is flawless and if you stick to it, we will snatch it from under theirse noses with themse being none the wiser until its too late.”

Taking a deep breath, Sylvester hung his head. “Alright, hit me jack, what's this brilliant plan you got?”

******

Later, after the barrier reset

Rattling of small wheels on path echoed on the nocturnal street. But this was no gang raiding party, just two thuggish men were pushing a big, rusty dumpster through central West Town. 

“Hey now, is this really necessary?” Valencio's muffled voice echoed inside. “We've been going for quite a while now. Ain't no chance we're finding the way back to you cats' hideout, ay?”

“Shaddap. Boss gave orders and we follow them.” One of the brutes replied. It was Mog, the guy who bashed their heads against the table back at Ragged Wraith's hideout.

“Listen here chickenshit, when I'm done with the job for Wraith, I'm comin' back to kick your ugly ass beyond the barrier you hulking piece of...” Sylvester started, bu suddenly the thugs tossed the dumpster down a flight of stairs. It went crashing all the way down while The Huskies inside screamed, until landed at the bottom, they cover flying wide open and its occupants tumbled out.

“Quiet down out there, or we will call the cops!” an angry voice yelled out from a window before it shut close.

“Jeez, couldn't they just put those sacks back on our heads and led us out of there? I think I'm going to upchuck again.” Buddy stated as he got up and helped his bandmates on their feet.

“Yeah, these guys are big time assholes. So Syl, what are you gonna do? Are you really going to give in to those psychos and do as they say?” Valencio asked while dusting off himself.

“Do I have a choice? Of course I gotta to roll with it, I do not wish to put you guys, or anyone else I know, in harm's way. You both have seen firsthand what that creepy-ass motherfucker is capable of. No, I'll have to roll with it. But before that, I have an important task to do first, and I need the help of both of you.”

“We're all ears jack, what is it?”

“Headin' over to the 201 and getting drunk off our asses. I really need it, 'cause I sure ain't sleeping after all that horrible crap from tonight.”

******

“What's gotten into ya, kid? Why do you keep practicing your bow playing so much?” Barry asked Sylvester after he found him in the back of the shop, playing on his upright bass with a bow so vigorously that it seemed as if he was trying to saw the instrument. “And what is with all those classical songs, too?”

“Yeah well unfortunately I was given about three weeks to learn bowing on pro level, so I dedicate all my free time to it now.” Sylvester replied without pausing his playing.

“Hold up now, what do you mean by that?”

“Man, I can't tell you. Just knowing it could put you... um... yeah I can't tell anyone yeah.”

“Does this have to do something with your brother and his debts? Tell me, I might help you out. I ain't afraid of no Downs gangsters, you very well know what happened to the last guy who wanted protection money from my shop.”

“Uh no I... sigh. Know what, I'll tell you. But you better keep this all to yourself.” Sylvester finally stopped playing and explained what happened a week ago, with Ragged Wraith capturing them, what happened to Pigneck Ricky, Tommy's recalculated debt and the violin heist plan. “Yeah so that's the gist of it. So I need to pass this audition in order to get access to the violin and then steal it. Otherwise someone I know will die, and worst part is that I cannot even go to the constabulary with this because that asshole Doven has informants among them.”

Barry sat down and crossed his arms. “Syl... I think you're being set up here. Oh, Ragged Wraith wants Stradiva's violin alright, but Darkell Doven could steal it on his own no problem, that sneaky fox can snatch anything that is not nailed down, and if it is, he will bring a crowbar. No, they are trying to get rid of you, and you know why.”

Sylvester looked into Barry's eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Because I was with a militia and they think I could still pose a threat to their expansion if I rallied them together again.”

“Not just some militia. You were The Hellhounds, the most fearsome vigilantes in town. If there is someone who The Ragged Wraith would be afraid of, it is you.”

Sylvester nodded. ”Yeah but I do not have any other option now, do I? If I get cold feed they will kill someone close to me and then probably do me in like they did ol' Pigneck. They won't get their booty but will be rid of me nonetheless. And should I get them what they want, I am pretty sure Doven will throw me under the tram at the first opportunity.”

“Those motherfuckers.” Leaning forward in his seat, Barry buried his face in his hands. “You're like a son to me, you know that, Syl. And now they're taking you from me.”

Sylvester placed his hand on Barry's shoulder. “Well I ain't letting them, not without a fight at least. Should Doven pull something on me, I will make him regret it. Be it right away, or when I get back from prison.”

“You seem awfully calm about the whole situation, especially considering Lunica. Do you really believe that hobo fencer about what happened to her?”

“Well, I don't know. But should I manage not to get killed or have my ass thrown into the big house for too long, I will sure want to find out the truth.”

******

North Town, Chord Avenue Studio Complex

“Well, since I am completely screwed, I can at least pull this one off.” Sylvester told himself as he pushed a small package through the mail slot on the door to Obituary Records front office. Inside of it was a demo tape containing self-made recordings of The Huskies' songs. Then he took a deep breath and headed deeper into the studio complex, carrying his upright bass case with him.

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting in the lobby of Northstar Music Entertainment, waiting for his turn in the auditions. His palms were sweaty, his knees weak and arms heavy. He was nervous but looked calm and ready. Dressed in his best dark gray pinstripe suit, he felt as if those clothes were choking him. For in just few minutes, his abilities as a musician will be judged, and the fates of him and his friends will be decided.

The door to the studio suddenly opened and out walked the previous tryout, a very professional-looking older man, carrying a rather luxurious ebony case. That's going to be one tough contender to beat. "Mr. Hugh Dutch?" A middle-aged woman came out of the door after the man and beckoned Sylvester in. the committee will see you now.

_“Hugh Dutch? Seriously? That's the fake name Doven used to get me on the list? Swear to Founder, I am going to deliver some serious pain to him when this is all over.”_

He nodded in response and got up, following her in. The studio was pretty big, obviously meant for recording of large ensembles. Inside the live room there were five chairs, four of which were occupied by members of Team Strings, and one by a young male harpist. No chair for Sylvester, obviously, as upright bass players must stand in order to play their instrument. In the control room, there sat a small committee, made up of executives and musicians from the City Philharmonic Orchestra, he assumed.

“You're the last candidate we have considered.” The middle-aged woman told him. “Please make sure to introduce yourself to the girls and their harpist, and then we will proceed with the audition. You will be playing String Ensemble Sonata in D minor together, and then judged by your performance.”

Sylvester nodded and entered the live room. All four girls immediately stood up and curtsied. “Greetings mister! So glad you've decided to join us today!” Said Nicola Amati, the ruby red-haired violoncellist. “We've had many great talents play with us already, but we're looking forward to playing with you as well! Certainly you're an amazing musician yourself!” She said with a smile.

Smiling back, Sylvester introduced himself (under the fake name that is). Nera Guarnee, the viola player, giggled when she heard it, resulting in a slap on the back of the head from violinist Nina Pagani. Sylvester meanwhile placed his case down and flipped the locks open. Barry lent him a nicer instrument with pristine black case for the job, as his own old upright bass and its battered case would certainly not make a good impression here. He took the instrument out and unsheathed the bow, trying the strings to find out whether they were in tune. After he finished tuning, the middle-aged woman from the committee spoke through the intercom.

“Okay, please get ready, we will start the metronome now.”

„Tic... tic... tic... ting!“ And they immediately started playing in unison. Sylvester put his entire soul and body into it, getting into 'The Zone', but found his mind wandering in the process. And this resulted in a flashback to three weeks ago..

******

“Wait, so let me put this straight... you want me to attend that audition under a false identity, and get the position in their string ensemble. You realize I am not very good at playing upright bass with a bow, or even know much about classical music in that matter?” Sylvester asked Darkell, staring at the thief in disbelief.

“Well then you better train pretty hard, you have about three weeks before the audition.” Darkell replied casually, playing with his knife again.

“Dammit! Alright, let's say I manage to pass this audition. What then?”

“The violin is stored in the basement of the City Philharmonic Orchestra. You will head there, while I will be posing as a maintenance worker and prepare an escape route for us. You will go down to the storage room in the basement and steal the violin from its locked case and come to me, to the southern balcony on third floor.”

“How am I supposed to unlock it? Sylvester asked, and got a small key thrown in his face as an answer.”

“I managed to 'borrow' the key for a moment and quickly make a copy. But getting access to the storeroom itself is damn near impossible, you need two keys to the door, each held by a different guard, and even two key codes that seems to be changing at random intervals. I have not figured out a pattern, so the guards either receive a list of codes for the day or have them called in via an earpiece, but I did not manage to learn how exactly that works either. But in any case they will let a member of the ensemble down there, for you will be provided with access to the contrabass they have there.”

“Sheesh, that's quite a lot of security they've got there. Okay so how do I get out of there once I retrieve it?”

Darkell grinned at him. “How the fuck should I know? You're a resourceful guy. I bet you'll figure something out.”

Suddenly, Sylvester snapped back to reality and found the girls from Team Strings, their harpist, and the entire committee applauding him. “You're awesome Mr. Dutch! We're looking forward to having you in our ensemble!” Ria Stradiva exclaimed. So he did it. No idea how, but he did it. One thing's for sure though, she won't be this happy once her violin is gone...

******

3 days later, in the City Philharmonic Orchestra building. 

Dressed in his best suit again, Sylvester made his way downstairs to the basement, then headed down a long hallway towards the entrance to the storeroom, and found himself face to face with two toughest-looking private security guards he had seen. Dressed in black suits and incredibly muscular, they both glared at him through black shades before one of them asked him: “Access card?”

Nodding, Sylvester produced a small card with his photo, the fake name and a bar code. The guard pulled a scanner off the wall and checked the code. The thing beeped and he nodded. “Okay, Mr. Dutch, we will open the storeroom for you now. Since you are new here, let me remind you that you may not leave the building with the instrument. You may find it in the left rear corner.” Then they both inserted a key into a hole in he wall and then entered codes in the keypads next to them. The massive armored door clacked loudly and opened with a slow groan. “You may now enter. We have to close the door behind you, so when you want to get back out, there is a bell button on the inside, to your right. And please turn the light off when you leave.”

The air was stale and smelt of wood and polish, and there were no windows, so it was almost completely dark inside. Sylvester found and flipped the light switch and was immediately amazed by the amount of instruments down there. Most were hidden away in luxurious wooden trunks, only nameplates signifying what was inside. But some of the most valuable instruments were put in locked Plexiglas display cases, with Madame Sacher Von Die Torte, Ria Stradiva's prized violin being placed on a stand in a display case square in the middle of the large storeroom. Sylvester only passed by it, heading straight to the back, where the upright bass was waiting for him in its case. He opened it and pulled the instrument out, basking in its glory for a moment before setting the vintage double bass against the wall and searching around the storeroom further, until he found a soft case for a tenor violin and took it along with the bass case to the middle. There he unlocked the display case and was about to grab Madame Sacher-Whatever, but suddenly a realization came to him. Surely, the most expensive instrument in the entire collection must have at least one extra layer of security, so he inspected the Plexiglas case further.

And it turned out he was right. There was a very thin gap surrounding the bottom of the case. A pressure trigger, most likely. Luckily, Darkell gave him some lockpicks for the job, so he pulled one out and jammed it into the gap, then carefully removed the tenor violin from its stand. He waited for a few seconds but nothing happened, and the guards did not barge in so it was certain a silent alarm did not go off. He packed Ria's violin into the soft travel case he then hid inside the upright bass case and closed it.

Heading back out, he was trying to keep his cool. He turned of the lights and rang the bell, and the guards obliged, opening the door for him. He said goodbye to them and headed back out, but when he reached the stairs, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest as a loud alarm started blaring, followed by shouts and rapid footsteps of the two security guards. The lockpick stuck in the pressure plate must've gotten loose, thus the alarm got triggered. He sprinted up the stairs, the guards hot on his heels. But as they turned the corner, the bass case came sliding down the stairs right under their feet, tripping them over. Sylvester then ran up until he reached third floor. Luckily he didn't run into anyone else, all the way until he reached the southern balcony where Darkell was waiting.

“Dammit, you dumbass triggered the alarm?” he immediately shouted at him. “Eh fuck it. We will zip to that building across the street and then run across the rooftops. Give me the violin so I can go quick!” There was zip line ready behind him, leading to a building across, and two pullies with handlebars ready on the balcony railing. 

But before he could react, Sylvester pulled a switchblade out of his his sleeve, opening it in one swift motion, and pointed it at him. “Oh hell no! Sure, I'll give you the violin, but I'm goin' first! Ain't riskin' you cutting the line off as soon as you get down there!”

There was a commotion in the hall so Darkell did not waste time arguing. “Okay whatever, just go!”

Quickly, Sylvester handed over the violin and grabbed one of the handlebars and attached the pulley to the line, then hopped off the balcony, zipping down along the line. “Yeeehaaaaaw!” Riding a zip line was something he always wanted to do, and with the adrenaline pumping through his veins now, he felt as if time went slower, so he basked in the wind blowing into his face and the city scenery passing by, until he reached the end, letting go of the handlebars before they hit the pole the line was attached to, and landing on the roof. A grinding noise came from behind and he quickly stepped aside to make space for Darkell, who landed in the same place shortly after.

“Okay let's go, we have a safehouse nearby! Follow me!” he exclaimed after dropping off and Sylvester ran after him. They jumped between the rooftops that were separated only by narrow alleyway, until suddenly Darkell stopped and opened a roof hatch. “Down here, quick!”

In the heat of the moment, Sylvester jumped down the hatch, but immediately realized his mistake as Darkell shut the hatch behind him and blocked it from the outside. “Ha! Now you're screwed, you greaser scumbag! Smell ya later!” He then left, his laughter trailing off.

Trying to open the hatch was of no avail, so Sylvester looked around. The place looked quite nice, it was a hallway with pink walls that had wood paneling at the bottom. There was a staircase leading down to ground floor, so he took it, and went through the door at the bottom. Immediately he was faced with a middle-aged woman wearing a white top and an orange apron, a red band in her brown hair. She was quite stocky, her thick strong arms with a boxing glove tattoo crossed on her chest, and her brown eyes staring through him. It was Molly Maho.

“Hold on a second young man! Who are you, and how did you get in there?! That's employees only!” She asked him with a booming voice.

“Aw nertz! Look now lady...” He started while taking a look around. He was in some sort of a diner, with magical girl posters hanging on the walls. Outside, through the large pane glass window, he saw some city constables talking on their radios while facing way. “...I have places to be, so if you'd just get out of my way, that'd be perfect.” 

“No way son! You better explain some things to me first! What are you doing, breaking into people's businesses while wearing a suit and bowtie, nonetheless. My gut tells me you're up to no good, a knave indeed!”

One tough woman. She's definitely not stepping aside that's for sure. For a moment, Sylvester considered the switchblade he had with him, but he really did not want to pull a knife on a bystander. He used to beat up guys who did that after all. Out of options, he just shouted “Get the hell out of my way, right now!” as the cops outside seemed to have finished talking on the radio and were turning around. Charging forward, he tried to force his way past her, but in the process received a powerful blow to the head with her fist, resulting in a one-hit K.O.

As he was regaining consciousness, his vision still hazy, he heard her talking to the constables, who then approached him and pulled him up to his feet. “Sylvester Mills, you are hereby under arrest for grand larceny, breaking and entering, trespassing, using a fake identity and more. You have the right to remain silent.” One of them told him while the other pulled his arms behind his back and put handcuffs on his wrists. As they were leading him away, his eyes focused enough to recognize Mama Maho standing near, watching with her arms crossed.

“Hell of a right hook, madam. Respect.” He told her as they were passing her by. Darkell obviously knew why he trapped him in her diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those who caught the references to Eminem's 'Lose Yourself' deserve a bowl of mom's spaghetti.


	4. Rocking The Jailhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for trypanophobia.

It's been two years. Two long years since the barred door shuddered shut behind him with a deafening rattle. Two winters passed since he heard the verdict: 15 years in maximum security prison, the South End Penitentiary, for being complicit in the heist involving a priceless ancient violin belonging to Ria Stradiva, the magical girl superstar. They promised him much shorter sentence, and even dropping it to minimal security prison if he named his employer and accomplice, but Sylvester refused. The deadly gang lord Ragged Wraith, who forced him into partaking in the heist had everything stacked against him. He threatened to harm his his friends, family, and even his father-in-law and his music shop. The lawyer who defended Sylvester in court turned out to be on the Wraith's payroll, and basically told him to take all the blame on himself and refuse to reveal any names, otherwise there would be consequences. And so he did. 

Thus, he ended up here, in the worst place in the entire City. After his imprisonment, he became incredibly disheveled, growing out his hair and beard and straying away from the other prisoners, dedicating his time to work out in peace. On the very first day, two of them confronted him, thinking he was an easy target. After having their heads slammed together, they changed their mind, and others quickly followed suit. The fact that he had the gaze of a man who had nothing to lose helped - they all knew that those types are the most dangerous of them all. And then there was his cell mate, the infamous neurosurgeon Harlow Blotfield Benari. 

Dr. H.B. Benari was the most unusual inmate this prison had ever seen - a dapper blond gentleman, with slicked-back hair and a large upturned waxed mustache, and also a true blue mad scientist who once aspired to find the source of magical girls' powers - believing it to be located in their brains - and to use this knowledge to create more magical girls, or even forcibly awaken the powers in formerly magical adults. He started off with scanning and x-raying the brains of volunteer magical girls, but these soon proved futile as there were no abnormal readings present. The next step was requesting the approval from M.G.S.I. for autopsies of girls who were KIA, and at first it he would receive it – after all his research could prove beneficial for the city – but then it was revoked after massive protests from Church of Founder, who considered such research blasphemous and opposed it since day one. 

But Dr. Benari was adamant about finishing his research, despite the fact that he did not discover anything relevant during the one autopsy he managed to do. And then one day, it happened. Dr. Benari allegedly murdered a magical girl and dragged her body to the morgue in the hospital he worked at to perform an autopsy on her brain. It is unknown whether he actually committed the murder of if he just stole the body, but since her team claimed they finished the night together and she split up with them while still alive, there was not much space for discussion. Nobody else but him had the motive, so after a short trial he was given life sentence in maximum security. Foundationalists even called for the return of the death sentence (that had been rescinded over 50 years ago) just for him, but this idea was rejected by the City council. And so like that, he was left to creep out his cell mates until his final days. And right now, he was creeping Sylvester out.

“Mister Mills, again I politely request for your consent to a surgery on your prefrontal cortex. I believe that the source of your unwillingness to participate in the daily routine of this penal institution is anchored in a blood clot that formed in that area, and I believe I have acquired sufficient resources to perform such a surgery.” 

Sylvester, who was just staring out of the barred window, looked at the crazy doctor and found him clutching a sharpened plastic knife and two plastic bags full of some repulsive orange substance. “Pruno and a shiv made out of a plastic knife? Really now?”

“Oh yes you see, the shiv I have made is sharp enough to be used to make an incision. In fact, I made a few more of them and traded them with Jason, that quiet polite gentleman from cell 1B for some of this low-grade ethanol that I intend to use as disinfectant, and considering how strong it is it should be also useful as an anesthetic.”

“You did what?”

“Ah you see, I had an abundance of shivs and he had an abundance of crude makeshift prison wine, so we engaged in a bit of bartering together. I am no merchant by trade but I can assure you it was an equivalent exchange, thank you for your concern.”

“No I mean, did you seriously arm Jason Patrick Battes, a.k.a. The Celestial Killer, the only confirmed mass murderer The City ever had, with a multitude of plastic shivs?”

“Well yes indeed I did, but I fail to see the issue present. Nevertheless, I also asked him if he would like to assist me with surgery in the future. Don't worry about his qualifications for the position, it was obvious to me that he is very skilled in blade handling and also has great knowledge in anatomy.”

“Founder damn it!” Sylvester bolted up and ran towards the bars ”I have to tell the guards before...”

“You ain't going to be telling the guards shit. If you want to live that is.” J.P. Battes appeared from the darkness outside the bars, breathing heavily. He was a stout balding man with a patchy mustache, wearing large eyeglasses with lens as thick as ashtrays.. He pointed one of the plastic knives at Sylvester and his eye twitched. “Some big things are going to happen in this dump, a riot, a revolution! And you are either going to be a part of it, or become a causality. Understand? You're either with us or against us. Your cell mate, the good doctor, already agreed to become part of our revolution, so you better join us or else he will cut out your liver, understood?”

Battes then disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Sylvester to stare into it, dumbfounded, until Dr. Benari's voice interrupted him. “Oh yeah, I did agree to join Mr. Battes' cause, and yes he indeed ordered me to surgically remove your liver. Don't worry, if it comes to that, I do plan on keeping your brain to use for my studies, it won't go to waste.”

Sylvester just blinked at him.

“Oh yeah, I guess you also wish to know how Mr. Battes managed to escape his cell and walk around the hallway without getting caught by the guards. Well I can only tell you that he is a very resourceful fellow, a skilled lock picker and his stealth capabilities are quite substantial as well.”

******

The next day, after lunch (which Sylvester barely touched, despite it being roast chicken day, and he loved him some roast chicken. Even if it was prison cafeteria grade.), Sylvester was informed by the guards that he had a visitor waiting for him. It was a bit of a surprise, especially when he sat in the visitation booth and saw Peggy on the other side, phone receiver already in hand. He reached for the receiver on his side and put it up to his ear. “Aaaay, fuzzy duck! Ain't you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hey Syl... how are you holding up? Sorry I didn't come visit you sooner, I just... I guess I needed a lot of time to process what happened, is all.”

“Don't worry your cute pixie-cut head about it, it's alright. At least I got a roof over my head and three warm meals a day. Sometimes the food's past expiration date, but eh. What's worse is the quality of tattoos the local artists offer here. Compared to your work, it's school desk scribbles.”

The last sentence got a bit of a chuckle out of Peggy. “Glad to see they didn’t manage to break your spirit in here yet.”

“Yeah I mean, there's plenty of nutjobs who could shank me when I least expect it, therefore I am trying to keep a positive outlook on my situation so that I die with a smile on my face. Hope you're stayin' safe out there, though.”

“Don't worry Syl... it's getting harder to stay safe these days though, for it's been getting progressively worse in the Downs since you got yourself arrested. It's gotten even worse as back in the day.”

“What? How come?”

“Guess it has to do with the Wraith taking completely over. Basically all of the gangs are under his banner now, and while street fights have ceased, muggings in the street and racketeering have gone through the roof. Even I have to pay them protection now.”

“Fuck. How dare...” Sylvester gripped the receiver so hard it seemed he was about to crush it.

“Hey, don't break it!” The guard behind him shouted. “And also, time's up! Say your goodbyes now!”

“Dammit. Well goodbye Needles. Hope to see you again someday.”

“You will, worry not. Just watch your back in there okay? Bye.” Peggy said and hanged the receiver. Sylvester did so too and stood up, letting the guard escort him back to his cell. Peggy watched them until they disappeared in a doorway and headed out with a soft sigh.

As she walked out of the prison's visitors' center and waited for her tram, she started having flashbacks to past, namely to the day she first met Sylvester.

******

It was three days after her failed dream left her with a discolored streak in her hair and discolored crackles in her irises. Peggy returned to school and expected to be teased about it relentlessly, so she tried to keep out of sight and out of mind of her fellow students. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect. 

During the lunch time, she made the effort to go and eat her at the outside tables in the schoolyard (well, what remained of them anyway) despite the snow and freezing cold. She swept the snow off the seat and part of the table with her head and sat there, eating her modest lunch in silence. When she heard footsteps crunching in the snow, going her way, she just kept looking down at her meal, hoping they would just pass her by. But they didn't.

“Hey Needles, you've been avoiding us all day. You know, that's not very nice of you. And what's with that streak in your hair? Did you fuck up your dye job or what?” A voice came out right from behind her back.

Peggy knew immediately who it belonged to. Sammy Aaron, the leader of a group of popular kids at West End High. As all popular kids are wont to do, Sammy and his friends liked to bully the outcast kids when bored. She did not respond to him, just pulled her head into her shoulders, hoping he and his posse would just go away. They didn't. Jimmy grabbed her by the hood hanging on her jacket and jerked her back, making her fall backward into snow. 

“You fucking dare ignore us? Sammy asked you a question didn't he. So you better fucking answer him!” yelled Georgia Regina, Sammy's girlfriend, then grabbed her by the jaw and forcing her to look into her face. “So what's the deal with your hair? And .... those eyes too! Don't tell me you've become a magical girl!”

Peggy swallowed empty. “Um... um... I... had the dream yes...”

“Well isn't that a surprise!” Yelled one of the other bullies – There were more than half a dozen of them around her. “Show us your transformation then!”

She knew there was no getting out of this now. “Uh n-n-no, I c-c-can't.... I...”

“She's lying.” Georgia laughed. “She ain't no magical girl.”

Suddenly, an idea came to Peggy's mind. She shuffled her arm out of her jacket and raised the bandage-wrapped limb for all the bullies to see. “H-hey! I was out last night, see! And I... um... got burned by a fire-breathing monster. I, um... got it patched up by a healer and she told me not to transform for a while! So I cannot show youaaaaAAAAAHHH!”

Georgia grabbed her bandaged arm with both hands and mercilessly spun them in the opposite direction. “Quit bluffing, you dumb bitch! I know you ain't no Magical Girl! You're an Awakened – a failure. It happened to my great aunt, who got her Dream interrupted by a burst water pipe when she was twelve. She had a green streak in her hair, and green crackles in her eyes for the rest of her life. And so will you! You'll be forever bearing this mark!”

The pain was so great that Peggy couldn't move. Her vision was blurred from the tears flooding her eyes, but she saw Sammy kneeling next to her and felt Georgia pushing her shoulders into the snow, holding her down.

“Well Needles, you've been avoiding us us and even lied to us, so you've got to pay the price now.” He said with an ominous glee and pulled a small safety pin off off his woolen stocking hat. Peggy felt her heart sink. The bullies knew very well she had trypanophobia and would maliciously exploit it in order to cause her great distress – they even nicknamed her Needles. He opened the pin and began sticking it under the skin of his extended index finger, without hurting himself in the process. But to Peggy, it was a terrifying sight. She began hyperventilating immediately, then started having a panic attack as Sammy pushed his needled finger close to her face. All the bullies around her erupted in laughter.

“Hey babe, maybe you should try that trick on her own finger.” Georgia said as she grabbed Peggy's bandaged arm and lifted it up. Peggy yelped in pain, but then watched in horror as an evil grin spread across Sammy's face. 

“Yeah, let's do that. Should be fun.” He said and pulled out the pin from his finger. He then knelt on Peggy's leg and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, gripping it so hard it numbed her hand and she could not move her fingers. Then he began slowly, delicately coming with the pin towards her index finger while she cried and begged him to stop.

The other bullies cheered him on, so preoccupied with the scene unraveling before them that they did not notice the snow crunching behind them as several pairs of footsteps surrounded them. Then, out of the blue, one of them got grabbed by the shoulder and spun around, right into an incoming first, and an another group of youths descended upon the bullies like a pack of wild dogs. Noticing the commotion, Georgia and Sammy looked up and saw their goons lying beaten up in the snow.

Eight teenagers, all around the age of fifteen surrounded them. Each one of them wore some combination of blaze orange and black – an orange bomber jacket and black khakis; a black bomber jacket, orange skirt and thick warm black leggings; black sweater with orange stripes on arms; and similar. A tall boy with a greased-up pompadour hairstyle and wearing a black leather Perfecto jacket with an orange hoodie underneath obviously the leader, came forward and glared at the bully couple.

“Hey shitheads, leave that kid alone, if you don't want to end up worse than your buddies here.” he said in a cold, threatening voice. 

Sammy gritted his teeth and stood up. “Well look what we have here. The loser kids have united their sorry asses into a pathetic gang or something. So you think you're tough because you cowardly sucker-punched our friends from behind? Listen up you greasy fuckface, I challenge you to a duel, a fistfight, right here! C'mon! Or are you too much of a coward for that?”

The greaser stared him down for a moment before taking a few steps forward and assuming a fighting stance. “With pleasure.”

Sammy grinned. “I'm going to humiliate you right in front of your pathetic goons, dweeb.” He also entered a boxing stance, couching slightly and rising his fists in front of his face. Then they slowly approached each other, both ready to strike. Sammy did first, and hit him square in the jaw with an powerful jab, making him spin halfway to the side. Sammy cackled slightly, but then watched in horror as the greaser kid turned back to him with an unfazed look on his face.

“Mediocre.” he stated and delivered a liver shot to his opponent with a low shovel hook. As Sammy bent over in pain, her grabbed the back of his head and brought it down, right into his striking knee. He hit him three times this way, then let go and Sammy slumped down into the snow, moaning in pain.

“Oh shit!” Georgie shouted and scrambled, kicking up powdery snow in her escape. The other bullies were now getting up while their assailants watched witch their arms crossed.

“Listen up. This is Hellhounds turf now. If we see you bullyin' kids here ever again, we will make you regret it. Understand” The leader of the gang shouted and all the bullies bulged their eyes at him before nodding. “Good. Now take your pisspants leader here out of my sight.”

Two of the bullies helped Sammy up, supporting him with their shoulders, limped away, completely humiliated. The dark-skinned girl in the black bomber jacket and orange skirt offered Peggy a hand. She accepted, and the girl pulled her up.

“Are you okay hun?” she asked her. 

Peggy nodded, sliding her injured arm back into the jacket's sleeve and dusting herself off. “Thanks...” she muttered. “Thanks for the help.”

“You're very welcome dear. Name's May Belle, What's your handle?”

“My name is Peggy. Uh, the other kids like to call me Needles, because I have a phobia, and they keep using it against me, as you probably could've seen yourselves.”

“You should adopt that nickname.” The leader stated as he approached them. “If you accept what was their derogatory remark as your own, it will give you power over them. I did so too, the bullies liked to tell me that I ain't nuthin' but a Hound Dog, and it stuck. But my real name's Sylvester, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah ummm... I'll think about it. So you guys are like, a gang or something?”

“We like to think of ourselves more as vigilantes. You heard what that scumbag Sammy said right? That we are the loser kids united? And he is right, every single one of us was a target of bullying here at West End High. You're welcome to join us if you want.”

Peggy thought for a moment. Sure, the bullying situation there at West End High was terrible. The headmaster and teachers didn't really give a shit. It was pretty much natural that a group like this had formed. “Sure thing.” she said after a short moment. “Do you guys have a name?”

“Yeah. We're the Hellhounds.”

******

The ringing of the tram's bell as it arrived at the stop made Peggy snap out of her flashback. She boarded it and sat down, looking out of the window and thinking back to old times again.

The Hellhounds' colors were black and blaze orange, and their logo was a snarling hell hound with burning orange eyes, a tuft of combed-back hair on top of its head, and a spiked collar. Peggy wore both with pride, and she quickly became popular with the members because of her good and kind spirit. She soon became best friends with the core – made up of Sylvester and his three lieutenants: Buddy, Valencio and May Belle, his girlfriend. She even had feelings for Sylvester, but never confessed as she did not want to interrupt his and May Belle's relationship. After most of their members graduated, the Hellhounds hit the streets of The Downs and became a proper and feared neighborhood militia, bringing at least a semblance of order in the lack of a proper police force. Sylvester offered Peggy the position of lieutenant, but she refused, as around this time she was working to take over her uncle's business, and she became the Hellhounds' own tattoo artist soon afterwards.

But then, on that fateful day four years ago, it all came to an end. On New Year's Eve, three major gangs – The Rust Hustlers, West End Fiends and The Dedhartz united and stormed the Hellhounds' HQ together. Despite being seriously outnumbered they fought back valiantly and managed to push the attackers out, and the fight basically spilled into about half of the neighborhood, after other militias and gangs joined in. That event is now remembered in history as New Year's Rumble, and was the last straw that finally made the C.D.D. and City Constabulary move into The Downs and get the situation under control, because the fight was not calming down ad it was nine in the evening already. Countless arrests were made, which resulted in The Rust Hustlers and West End Fiends members who managed to escape splintering into smaller gangs, and The Dedhartz becoming seriously diminished in numbers and power. The Hellhounds and other militias were let go, on the condition that they disband, and the next day, a permanent police station was established in The Downs. Militias and vigilante groups were outlawed immediately afterwards, and the situation calmed down overall. But it looks like the period of peace is over now...

Sylvester married May Belle shortly after the Hellhounds were disbanded, and she soon became pregnant, but later died in childbirth. By this time, Peggy still had feelings for Sylvester, but knew it wouldn't be right to make a move after what happened, so she kept it to herself. Two years later, Sylvester formed his band The Huskies together with his best friends and former lieutenants Buddy and Valencio and the rest was history.

It was them who told Peggy about what exactly transpired with Ria Stradiva's violin, and she realized that it was Sylvester's past as the Hellhound leader that likely made the Ragged Wraith wanting him out of the picture. But then again, the enigmatic gang lord was not exactly known to shy away from murder – quite the opposite, so why didn't he just have had Sylvester killed by his goons? Guess he really wanted that violin, probably as a status symbol. Nevertheless, at least Sylvester was left alive, locked away for a good while, but alive.

The tram conductor tapped her shoulder and Peggy jolted up. She got so lost in thoughts again she missed her station, and they were now at the final stop at the end of The Downs. She apologized to them and hastily left the tram, then begrudgingly headed home, knowing it was now a long walk back to the small apartment above her parlor, and no other tram would be coming in the opposite direction for the next thirty minutes.

******

_Three days later_

It was some time before half past nine in the evening, past the curfew. The lights were off already, and Sylvester was just explaining to Dr. Benari that no, he does not wish to have his skull sawed open with a plastic shiv while drunk off pruno, when a guard banged on the barred door of their cell with a billy club.

“Hey! Shut up in there! It's way past curf...”

Suddenly, J.P. Battes appeared from the darkness behind him, dressed in a guard uniform, and whacked him in the back of the head with another billy club. The guard fell forward, hitting his brow on the bars and then sliding down to the ground, unconscious.

“Holy shit, hope you didn't kill him man!” Sylvester exclaimed as Battes began unlocking their cell.

“No I didn't, he's just out. Oh don't give me that look, I killed plenty enough people to know. And I know not to kill the, don't need to make the eventual manhunt any more intense.” Battes explained while taking off the guard's uniform jacket. “Get out of your jumpsuit boy, you're going to trade jobs with sleeping beauty here. And move it, we only have 38 minutes left.”

Sylvester obliged, and shortly afterwards he was pretend-patrolling the main hallway with a flashlight, occasionally meeting with other guards and making small talk with them. Some of them, he noticed, were also prisoners playing pretend. So the first plan of J.P. Battes' escape plan was coming along smoothly. But Sylvester was getting nervous, as it seemed like ages since he started doing it – he was afraid the barrier would activate, ruining their entire escape plan, and he was in the danger of getting caught too. But then suddenly, a small skinny rat-faced prisoner jumped out of the dark, and Sylvester damn near fell on his butt.

“Ey chief, got you your stuff from the lockup.” he explained and tossed him a beige canvas duffel bag with his name tag on it. “And you'll also need this.” He handed him a gas mask and makeshift shield made of six cafeteria lunch trays, wooden scraps, duct tape and a length of rope.

“What's this for?” Sylvester asked and checked the gas mask out. It had a single, large rectangular visor, and two very small filters located on the bottom end, the type worn by prison guards, meant to protect them against tear gas they used to quell prison unrests. He also felt something bulge in the side pocket of his duffel bag... something hard and cold – his switchblade, the one he had with him during the heist. He couldn't believe that the police left it with hs clothes and personal things in the lockup.

“No time to explain! All the other guards have been knocked out now, so quickly follow me, we'll rendezvous with the others!”

******

“Okay so here's the deal. The inner barrier is activating in about 9 minutes. As soon as the first announcement rings out, we'll open this door. The alarm will sound off so we'll have to haul ass to the sewer grate I told you about before. The riot control squad has a five minute response timer so they won't be able to get there before barrier activates. So... we'll break the bar locking it with the crowbars we stole from warehouse, while you guys with shields will cover us, because the assholes up in the guard tower will rain stun bolts down on our heads while we work, then drop into the sewer. All understood? 'Cause I ain't repeatin' it.”

Sylvester looked around. There were eight of them in total, some still dressed in the stolen guard uniforms. Everyone was wearing a gas mask, likely stolen from supply depot, and had their makeshift shields on the ready, and two of the largest guys were carrying crowbars – those were the ones meant to open the barred manhole. 

It might seem weird to explain the plan on the fly, and Sylvester asked Battes about it before. His answer was basically that he didn't want anyone to accidentally slip the details while chatting. Well whatever, Sylvester went with it. He had made up his mind right the next evening after Battes' first nocturnal visit, after Peggy visited him, and decided to join in on the prison break. After all, there was someone out there who deserved to receive justice. And Sylvester didn't know how to make it happen yet, but he knew he had to get out of jail first...

“ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS. THE TIME IS NOW 9:55 PM. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'RE BACK INSIDE YOUR HOMES, WITH ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS LOCKED.”

“Go!” Battes screamed and two of the biggest guys cracked the door to the courtyard open. Immediately, a blaring alarm sounded out and searchlight activated on the tower, scanning the courtyard before focusing on the group of fugitives.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” one of the tower guards screamed through megaphone. “RIGHT NOW!!!”

Nobody paid them any attention and soon the twangs of multiple crossbows, barely audible over the alarm, rang out from the tower. The first barrage of stun bolts rained down on them. Sylvester and Dr. Benari managed to cover themselves with the cafeteria tray shields, but the rat-faced prisoner than handed Sylvester his things accidentally stuck his leg out and got hit right into it. The small tazer within the short, thick bolt activated immediately upon contact and sent powerful shocks into his body. Others kept pressing on and quickly reached the barred manhole, building a shield wall in the direction of the tower.

Despite the fact that a couple of tazer bolts managed to pierce the plastic tray shields, none scored a hit, and the guards gave up on their crossbows. Instead, a loud band caused by pressurized air was heard, and several hissing canisters of tear gas landed amongst the group. The two strongest guys were trying to break open the bar on on the manhole. One of them began coughing and choking as the gas cloud shrouded them – obviously he didn't put his mask on correctly. In a fit of rage, Battes yanked the crowbar from his hand, then whacked him over the head with it, The prisoner slumped down unconscious and Battes quickly pried the bar open with the other prisoner, then opened the hinged manhole cover.

“Everyone in, after me! One after another!” he shouted and dropped inside, followed by Dr. Benari and the other large prisoner. The escapees headed down the manhole, one after another, but it went slow because as the shield wall broke apart, the guards on the tower started firing stun bolts at them again, and everyone had to be careful not to expose a body part to their electric wrath. 

“ATTENTION ALL GIRLS. THE TIME IS NOW 9:59 PM. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'RE TRANSFORMED AND READY.”

Sylvester remained last and he slowly backed up to the manhole. The guards on the tower panicked now and headed inside, so he was able toss the shield aside and climb down. The last thing he saw as he was closing the hinged cover, were the members of the riot response commando frantically trying to close the broken open courtyard door. Then the lid closed fully, and the barrier covered it, cutting off any would-be pursuers. 

He kept climbing down the ladder and found himself in the middle of a narrow corridor. Pulling out the flashlight he got from the guard and turning it on, he realized that one way headed south, back towards the main prison building, and the other led north, away from it, so he naturally took that one. As he reached the end of it, he found a small barred door that had its lock pried open, so he knew he went the right way. The narrow corridor opened to a large tunnel. He looked towards each end and saw some lights and heard the voices of his co-escapees, so he headed towards them, assuming they were waiting for him to explain the next part of the plan. But he was wrong.

“That fuckin' asshole Battes and that goddamn cuckoo doctor are gone!” The other large prisoner welcomed Sylvester with these words as soon as he noticed him. The remaining three prisoners were waiting there, discussing what to do. “As we were running out of that corridor, I slipped and broke my flashlight, and those two scumbags fled into dark tunnels before I could get up, and now we have no idea which way are we supposed to go!”

“Yeah, no surprise there, that guy is a slimy weasel. So what's the plan now?” Sylvester asked, taking off his gas mask, but upon smelling the air he retracted the decision.

“Well, you know what I'm in a mood for right now?” one of the other two prisoners, also dressed in a stolen guard uniform stated ads he slowly turned to face Sylvester his face in an angry bitter frown behind the visor. “Beating the everloving shit out of former vigilantes. Ain't that right... Hound Dog?”

Sylvester froze. He searched in his memory and recognized the man as Mauler Nephi, a high lieutenant of the West End Fiends, known for fighting with a large home-made wooden mallet. Sylvester fought him and brought him down during the New Years' Rumble, and obviously he was planning to return the favor now.

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” The big guy said as they all started approaching Sylvester, cracking their knuckles. “Come on Hellhound! We'll have some fun with ya!”

Sylvester cursed in his mind. He should've known there was a chance someone who held a grudge against him could find the way into the jailbreak group. But as the assumed a fighting stance and prepared to draw the switchblade a bright yellow light filled the tunnel. They all turned and stared into it it slack-jawed. It was coming from four bright round lights at the other end of the tunnel they were in

“Well finally you've returned, Battes, you asshole. Come join us in breaking the Hellhound's spine, then we can head out together.” The big prisoner called towards the light source. A powerful roar came back as an answer, echoing in the sewer tunnel, and the light started barreling towards them at a rapid pace, causing loud rumbling.

“Monster!” One of the prisoners screamed. The big guy tackled Sylvester down as he scrambled, and all three of them took off running away towards the other end of the tunnel. By the time he got back up, the monster was approaching fast. Sylvester noticed a small crevice in the wall behind a set of pipes and quickly squeezed himself in there, mere seconds before the monster charged by. Soon after, he heard the screams of the three other escapees in the distance as the the thing caught them. He waited for about five minutes afterwards, to see if it turns around and comes looking for him, but it didn't. Instead the rumbling trailed off into the distance until it couldn't be heard anymore. Sylvester exited his hiding spot and headed the opposite way, creeping quietly in case there was anything else down there with him.

******

He had no idea how long he kept going, treading carefully and listening to every sound. But he met no other monster, no rustling in the dark, no skittering or pitter-patter, nothing. Only the hum of water flowing in pipes, or dripping occasionally. Still, he kept the switchblade ready in his pocket – while it was of no no use against monsters, but the mad neurosurgeon and Celestial Killer were still down there somewhere. And he knew they had shivs and billy clubs on them. 

Suddenly, he heard pained moaning in the distance. He carefully peeked over a bend in the sewer tunnel and saw a flashlight lying on the wet concrete floor of a small circular room, illuminating a person lying down by the entrance clutching their abdomen. Carefully he approached them and found out it was Dr. Benari.

“Oh, good evening Mr. Mills.” he said with a weak voice when he saw Sylvester, then coughed. “I'm afraid I won't be able to operate on your prefrontal cortex. You see, Mr. Battes seems to have had a change of mind... cough... and stabbed me out of nowhere, leaving me here.” 

“Why?” Sylvester asked as he came closer and knelt by him to take a better look. He was no doctor but he immediately noticed Benari was beyond saving, nothing he had at his disposal could help him.

“Ah, I would... cough.... assume he does not relish in the company of... cough... others. So he disposed of me... cough... instead. Well... shame I won't be able to... operate on my.... own brain... after... I... die...” With these words, the infamous neurosurgeon drew his last breath and his body went limp.

“Damn. You crazy bastard.” Sylvester muttered as he stood up and turned around, when suddenly the light of his torch fell onto another person, just standing there in the dark in the middle of the entrance on the other side of the room. It was no one else than Jason Patrick Battes.

“Well well, l assume that since you're alive, the other three aren't. Is that right?” He growled ominously. Sylvester nodded in response. “Shame, I was planning on killing them myself. Well that makes you the last loose end to take care of. You see Mills, none of you were meant to escape with me alive. The Celestial Killer does not operate like that, no no, The Celestial Killer does not work in teams. The Celestial Killer works alone...” He then drew a large, rusted kitchen knife – one he had likely hidden somewhere in the sewers during his olden days. “You all were meant to serve just as peons to help me escape, and afterwards as dummies to stab, in order to make sure I didn't go out of practice before I once again unleash absolute terror upon this worthless City.” he said while approaching Sylvester with the shiv on the ready.

“Figures, that the psycho killer turns out to be, well a psycho killer. But you know what? It's not like I was gonna on let fiends in the likes of you out into the streets. I would've gone rat fink on your asses at the first opportunity.” he explained, then drew his knife and got into a fighting stance. “Or taken you out myself, given the opportunity.”

Battes grinned behind the mask's visor. “Ha! You dare challenge me? The Celestial Killer?! Master of the blade?! Very well...” he then immediately charged forward. He was surprisingly fast, and Sylvester barely dodged his first slash. He tried to retaliate, but Battes parried with his knife arm, sweeping his stab away and punched him in the gut. 

Sylvester stumbled backwards, while recovering, saw Battes' blade coming towards his face. Luckily, it just scratched the visor on his mask and cut the rubber a little. Sylvester seized the opportunity and got a hold of Battes' arm, trying to make him let go of the knife by squeezing his wrist like a vise. But he wouldn't let go, so he tried elbowing him in the face, but the mask he was also wearing absorbed the blow, and Battes overpowered him afterwards, pushing him like bulldozer and slamming him into the wall. In the shock, he let go of the switchblade and it audibly tinged against the concrete floor.

“Pathetic. It would be a waste to blunt my knife with your worthless flesh.” Battes said with a frown and dropped his rusty blade, opting to wrap both his hands around Sylvester's throat and choking him. “Do you know why I kill?” he asked while Sylvester was struggling for his breath. “I kill in the name of the Cleanser. He who created the monsters. They are his holy warriors, tasked with ridding Earth of those who aren't worthy, like you. But then Founder came, created this City and the Magical Girls, grinding their purifying crusade into a halt. So I made a promise to do the Cleanser's sacred work for Him, while the monsters are held back by those super-powered teenagers. Oh look, your face is turning kinda blue here pal. Cleanser shall soon take...”

He did not finish. Something pounced him from the behind and pulled him backwards. Something with huge claws and teeth. Sylvester did not see what it was, and he didn't want to learn what it was either. Free from the crushing pressure on his windpipe, and barely recovered, he just instinctively grabbed his stiletto knife and stumblingly ran away as fast as he could. When he felt like he put enough distance between him and whatever that thing that got Battes was, he took a break to catch his breath. After panting and wheezing for a moment, he laughed to himself. “Doin' the Cleanser's sacred work, eh. Well looks like Cleanser's holy soldiers don't think you're worthy either.”

******

He spent the night trudging in the sewers, taking care to avoid any monsters crawling down there, when suddenly...

“ATTENTION ALL GIRLS. THE TIME IS NOW TWO AM. THE INNER BARRIER WILL DEACTIVATE SHOTRLY. PLEASE MAKE SURE THE STREETS ARE CLEAR OF MONSTERS, AND TAKE CARE ON YOUR WAY HOME.”

“Well thank fuckin' Founder.”

The muffled announcement could be heard through the manhole cover right above him. And he immediately jumped onto the ladder leading to the surface. With a lot of effort, he managed to lift and push it aside, then he took his mask off and inhaled the cold night air deeply. “Smells like freedom. But I can't stay out for long, I need to find a hidin' place pronto. Where am I at?” Sylvester pushed the manhole cover back in place and approached the nearest street sign. 

“Hmm, Stillwind Avenue. Oh hey, that's on the border of South Town and West Town.” He then dug in the pocket of his guard uniform and fished out his keys. At first he thought of going home, or to his parents, but decided against it. Surely, that would be the first places the cops would come looking for him at. He then remembered... the key to Zed's old arcade. It was a long shot, what if Zed sold the place in the meantime? But it was the only option on the table. He removed his guard uniform's cap, jacket, and all badges off his shirt, and dumped them all in a trashcan together with the damaged gas mask. He then headed west, back towards The Downs. Where he had a score to settle...


End file.
